"Okay, just three hives," Sjofn muttered as she lowered the torch to one of the buzzing hives. It caught on fire, and she leapt back to avoid the swarm of bees that erupted in a panic. She moved to the second, then the third, setting fire to each of them.

"There. That ought to do it," she said, satisfied.

Her armour was water stained, and her boots were covered in Divines-knew-what from sneaking out the sewer, and she had a minor laceration on her cheek from where a mercenary's arrow had skimmed past her, missing her head. She was tired, and all she wanted to do was get back to the Cistern, have a hot meal, maybe a bath, and some rest.

A roar sounded through the air and the shadow of wings fell over her. Her heart sank in her chest- and Mirmulnir's wings stirred under her ribs- as a black dragon flew overhead, wheeled around, then came right at her. Red eyes met amber, and her heart rose- in panic.

She knew this dragon. This was the demon that flew from the destruction of Helgen- and unknowingly caused the liberation of Ulfric. The ebony head tilted as the dragon hovered above her, crimson eyes studying her. Sjofn was unable to move, caught in the dragon's gaze- not entirely of fear, but of something else. She knew the dragon was forcing her to be still with its gaze.

"Zu'u sahlon dovah sos nau hi, joor," it- he- rumbled, and Sjofn shook. His voice rattled her bones to the marrow with its power, with its authority, and in her chest, Mirmulnir was still, submissive. This dragon was no ordinary dragon, and as she stared into his eyes, she knew, with a primal certainty, that her fate, her very life, was tied to that of this dragon.

I smell the dragon blood on you, mortal.

How she understood him, how she had understood Mirmulnir, she didn't know, but something inside her demanded she answer him, that she assert that she was not submissive like Mirmulnir was.

"Or is it IN me?" She asked, her voice cracking as she forced herself to speak, breaking the dragon's hold on her.

The dragon's eyes widened in shock, then narrowed in anger along with a hiss from between glittering fangs.

"Dovahkiin," he hissed. "You understand my tongue, but you cannot speak it. A farce, a pretender, a charlatan that proclaims herself to be of Dovahsol!"

"I don't claim anything!" Sjofn snorted back at him. "I didn't ask for this, I don't WANT it!"

"Then allow me to end it for you, and I shall reclaim what is rightfully mine," the dragon sneered.

"Yol... TOOR SHUL!"

Sjofn dove out of the way of the fire, and bolted for the water. On the other side of the water, at the bank, she saw her horse fleeing in panic for the city. She breathed a sigh of relief before taking a deep breath and diving into the water.

The contents of Aringoth's safe had been in her horse's saddlebags. With her steed headed for the city, her efforts would pay off. Provided she survived this. She didn't have guards or Drex to help her out this time. She had to hope that the dragon would be easily frustrated enough to fly off. Did dragons like water? She had no clue.

A sudden snapping in the water behind her, followed by muffled roars above the surface told her that he had attempted to snap her up and missed. Sjofn kicked her way towards the bridge- the same bridge she'd hid under when camping til nightfall for infiltration. It was low and shadowed- it had hidden her well enough from the mercenaries. Would it hide her from a dragon?

Another explosion of teeth and bubbles surrounded her, and she screamed as the jaws closed around her torso, fangs barely missing cutting into her stomach by closing between her legs that she kicked in protest as he lifted her up.

He means to devour me, she thought desperately inside his mouth, legs dangling outside his jaws.

She wouldn't allow it. She did not survive being hunted by Imperials, then an entire house of mercenaries only to be eaten. She fought with the dragon's tongue that tried wrapping around her, one hand struggling to reach the dagger attached to her hip. The dragon's tongue flicked up, and tilted her torso to the side, granting her access to her weapon, and she withdrew it, slamming it into the roof of his mouth with a screech.

The roar that came from him nearly deafened her, but his jaws parted in agony, and she fell, screaming, from his maw. She twisted in mid air. How high up were they? Were they above w-

She fell back into the water with a splash. She was dazed, shocked at the fact that she had nearly been eaten, and then dropped, but she did her best to shake it off, and she swam erratically for the bridge once more, swimming as deep as she could. There was no explosion of bubbles, no snapping of jaws, no sound of pursuit.

She reached the bridge and surfaced, gasping for breath. She heard the roars of the dragon, further away than she'd expected.

"Daar los ni uben, Dovahkiin! Hi los vungol ahrk vungol enarah wah du!" He screamed, his black figure retreating into the sky.

This is not over, Dovahkiin! You are mine and mine alone to devour!

Shaking, Sjofn crawled out onto the bank, taking inventory of her wounds. A gouge on each of her thighs from where his fangs had ripped her armour and cut into her skin, and both were bleeding profusely. Likely the reason she was shaking, shock aside.

A low humming sound reached her ears, and her eyes widened in relief at the sight of the glowing plant a few yards away. She made her way to it, never so glad to see a Nirnroot in her life. She plucked one of the leaves and chewed on it, getting the plant's restorative properties into her system before she took the other leaves and cracked them open, gathering the softly glowing sap and spreading it over her wounds. The relief was instant, and the bleeding slowed before finally stopping as the sap dried.

The smell of smoke brought her back to her task, and she looked over her shoulder, her face going white, even under her bronze skin.

The entire apiary was on fire.

Sjofn limped into the Cistern, looking disgruntled, her face pale and soot in her curls and on her armour. Brynjolf was on her in a second.

"Our scouts could see the entire apiary ablaze from the docks! I told you not to burn more than three of the hives!" He hissed. "Maven will-"

He cut off as he saw her armour torn, blood staining her exposed thighs, and he wordlessly led her to one of the empty beds, sitting her down.

"What happened?" He demanded as he pulled a healing potion from a nearby shelf and uncorking it. He moved to hand the bottle to her, took note of her shaking hands, then thought better of it, sitting next to her and putting the bottle to her lips. He was quiet as he watched her down the contents, his green eyes flicking to her wounds, which slowly closed as she consumed the potion.

"Dragon," she said weakly, pulling off her jacket and showing him the punctures in the leather. "He tried to eat me. Or did our scouts miss that one? Should tell them to pay more attention. The dragon was huge, black and screaming. Either that, or you missed the memo, staying in the Cistern."

Brynjolf didn't bother correcting her for her insubordination or her tongue, because she was right- if there was a dragon attack, he certainly hadn't heard because yes, he'd been in the Flagon- that and it was better she give him her smart words, rather than Mercer, who wouldn't care if she'd nearly been eaten by a dragon.

"Tonila will get you another cuirass, but..." He blinked, looking at the holes, then turned his attention to her back and sides, where other various wounds were slowly healing. "By the Eight, how did you survive?"

"Lost my best- and only- dagger by stabbing him in the roof of the mouth. He dropped me like a hot coal, and I swam under the bridge to get away from him," she replied wearily, still shaking.

Brynjolf pulled the blanket of the bed up around her shoulders and let her lean against him, brow furrowed as he smoothed her hair from her forehead. She was cold, her skin clammy.

"You need something to drink, some food, then rest," he said, pushing her back into the bed, pulling the pillow under her head. She grabbed his hand as he moved to leave, her amber eyes wide.

"My pack. Have something you should see, but... Maven's going to have me killed, isn't she? Should I leave the city?" She whispered.

Brynjolf hesitated, because it was likely that was exactly what would happen. There was no way that Maven was going to believe a story of a dragon burning down Goldenglow- she was skeptical of the rumours of Helgen and Whiterun, and the even more outrageous rumours of the Dragonborn being summoned by the Greybeards.

"Brynjolf!" Rune called, interrupting his thoughts.

"What is it?" He replied to the younger man as he came running up. Rune held out Sjofn's pack.

"Here's her pack, but I think this is more important- it fell out of her jacket at the entrance to the Cistern out in the graveyard," he said quietly, holding out his hand.

Brynjolf stared in stunned silence at the object in Rune's hand. Ebony, glossy, and not as big as a sword, but bigger than a dagger- and far more dangerous than both. A dragon's fang. Sjofn stared at it from his side.

"Looks like we traded," she muttered as she reached out and snagged the fang by the root, cradling it with a look that was possessive, jealous. Amber eyes lifted to meet green.

"Well. She can deny it all she wants, but now, I have proof."

"I didn't expect to come out of that alive," Sjofn said shakily as she sat down on the bench next to Brynjolf where he'd patted it, beckoning her to sit.

"I take it the dragon fang helped?" He asked, pushing a plate of food at her.

"It did," she replied, taking a piece of bread and a slice of cheese, offering a grateful smile to Delvin as he doled her out some stew and pushed a flagon of ale at her. She was quiet for a minute as she tore into her meal, eating with gusto, and Brynjolf watched her with amusement.

He'd never seen someone eat quite like Sjofn, aside from Delvin. She ate as though every meal was the first she'd had in weeks, or if every meal was the best she'd ever tasted. She always ate with gusto, and though she wasn't completely savage, she did have a lack of polish to her table manners- she ate like someone who'd grown up eating around a campfire and never at a table. She also never turned down seconds, sometimes thirds- she was a joy to cook for, because she wasn't picky.

It did wonders for her figure, though, with her wide soft hips, plush rump, curving thighs and generous bosom. He'd caught a look at her when she was changing her bandages, and she had a soft, chubby belly to go with her curves, and that had made him smile, but he knew, from the times he'd trained her with daggers and caught her around the waist, that there was hard muscle under the softness of her belly and waist. The hard core of an archer that stiffened her entire torso for a perfect shot. She was a healthy, active woman who enjoyed living.

"She wasn't happy, but she accepted the loss, considering I managed to not burn down the entire estate, and found out Aringoth had sold it," she said, breaking the silence. "She almost asked for the fang, but I refused. I ... I have to take it to someone."

Brynjolf lifted a brow.

"To who, lass?"

Her cheeks burned a bright russet colour, and she shoved a piece of cheese in her mouth to avoid answering immediately. Brynjolf sipped at his ale in an attempt to swallow the sudden pang of jealousy. He had thought she was meaning an appraiser, or a weaponsmith, but her reaction screamed "someone she had feelings for." He knew better than to get involved with someone else in the Guild- what had happened to Gallus was reason enough to keep anyone at arm's distance.

"Stupid, really," she murmured after swallowing her food. "My brother... he joined the Stormcloaks. It'd make a fitting weapon if the right smith got a hold of it, don't you think? I'm being sentimental."

Brynjolf almost felt relieved that her reaction was over embarrassment of being sentimental over family, not being caught wanting to woo someone, and he covered it up by chuckling.

"You don't have to be cold and heartless to be in this guild, lass. Only during a job," he told her.

She smiled weakly, but didn't meet his eyes, still flushed.

"Sorry, guess I let Dirge intimidate me too much," she cracked, eliciting laughter from Brynjolf and Delvin.

Sjofn sprawled on her bed quietly, trying not to wake Vex or Tonila. The women slept in their own alcove-turned-room - even though Tonila sometimes snuck into Delvin's bed from time to time. Oddly, Sjofn felt it almost unnecessary- she didn't feel she was at risk of harassment from the men. They all had different demeanours, from gentle, like Rune, gruff and harsh like Dirge, or aloof and snide like Niurin, but they'd all had kind words for her and pointers when she'd joined.

The only one she didn't trust was Mercer, but she was still unsure if it was because he was so quiet, yet cruel, harsh without being directly so. Nothing the man did was direct, everything underhanded, except when asserting authority. Even his movements about the Cistern were unpredictable and as hazy as smoke. She supposed that was a good way for the Guildmaster to be, but compared to Brynjolf, who handled business and affairs just as much- if not more- as Mercer, he was cruel. Brynjolf was kind, playful and despite being a swindler, a thief, he was a good man under it all.

Her heart pounded when she imagined Brynjolf's glittering green eyes and the easy going smirk under his red beard. His face was competing for attention in her mind with that of Ulfric, and as of late, was winning. Her crush on Ulfric was meaningless, she reasoned. He was an attractive, powerful man, but she knew nothing of him personally, and had not spent much time with him, compared to her time spent with Brynjolf.

Sparring, going over errands, spoils from a heist, comparing weapons, idle chat, it all came naturally with Brynjolf. He was so easy to talk to, and he had never once asked her about her origins, never asked about her family, her alliances. He only cared about allies who could make gold.

The thought hurt a little, because while they were friendly, her one and only attempt at flirtation had resulted in him shutting her down so politely and deftly, that it practically erased her flirtations, as though it had never happened. Completely glossed over and ignored without making it obvious, but making it perfectly clear- Brynjolf was a man of business, and not a man of love- be it serious affection or carnal pleasures.

Hurt over it, and almost out of retaliation, her first thought was to have the dragon fang made into a weapon and have it sent to Ulfric. At least if Ulfric turned her down, it was because she was a nobody, and he was a Jarl, and potential candidate for High King. It would make her feel better, anyway, being turned down by someone out of reach, as opposed to someone who simply didn't want her.

But I'm not a nobody, she thought to herself. I'm the Dragonborn, apparently. Even that dragon said I was. Dovahkiin.

She felt a twinge of guilt. She knew she'd been summoned to Hrothgar, but did she want to make that trek? What if they simply wanted her to be a Greybeard and never leave the mountain? Or worse... what if they saw her as a threat, and wanted to kill her, like the dragons did?

She rolled over and shoved her face in her pillow with a muffled groan. What she wouldn't give for her old life, living in the forest with Amir. No politics, no dragons, no aching for gorgeous men that didn't want her, no powerful women with the ability to hire assassins to kill her.

She sighed again and reached for her pack, snagging some herbs from her pack and chewing on them to induce sleep. She had a trip to make regarding the ongoing drama with the Goldenglow Estate, and she'd need sleep to keep her wits about her.

"Brynjolf, why is it that whenever water is involved with one of my jobs, you neglect to inform me of them?" Sjofn grated as she made her way to the center of the Cistern. The red haired man laughed, seeing the water stains on her armour, but his laughter faded as she brandished her bow at him.

"That was my last good string. I had to take the long way back through the underbrush, because one of the East Empire guards saw me, thanks to that scaly little shit, and they tracked me down all the way to Kynesgrove. I couldn't stop to get supplies, so I was practically unarmed!" She berated him.

"Still no good with a pair of daggers, eh lass?" He replied, not even taking notice of her fussing.

"Oh, I can gut and skin something, no problem, but they have to be dead for me to do that. I don't do so well with moving targets," Sjofn replied, pushing her leather hood back and shaking out her messy curls.

She was never really unarmed, not with the Shout she'd learned, but she was loathe to use it on people, or if she thought she might be where people might overhear. She'd recieved a message from a courier as soon as she came back through Riften's gates- a letter from an unknown source, saying they'd heard of her using her Shout, and gave a pointer on where she might learn a new one.

Sjofn was unsure how she'd 'learn' another Shout- she still had no idea how all it worked, where the ability came from. She'd used her Shout on a bear to escape from it, and again on a pack of wolves. When she used the Shout, she felt the fluttering of Mirmulnir fade, and now she barely registered the dragon's presence in her ribcage, save for a tiny, occasional flicker below her heart.

"You need a mentor, then," Brynjolf said, bringing her out of her thoughts.

"Are you offering?" came her sly retort. He laughed.

"Once we figure out this mess with Goldenglow, I don't see why not. Now, show me what you found."

"He sold the estate to someone named Karliah, and gave me the deed as prove," Sjofn said, pulling the paper from the inner pocket of her cuirass, handing it to Brynjolf as he extended his hand. His red brows furrowed, casting glinting green eyes in shadow as he looked at her seriously.

"Are you certain." A statement, a demand, not a question. Sjofn nodded.

"Gulum-Ei seemed to be surprised I didn't know about her. He told me the gist of what she'd done, but-"

"Gulum-Ei tends to exaggerate, I know. You were right to take what he said with a grain of salt, but no, Mercer wouldn't have told you. He needs to know. Now. Come on."

He turned on his heel, heading for Mercer's desk, where the older man leaned heavily on the old furniture, going over documents. Sjofn sighed and trailed along, casting aside her hopes for a bath, hot food and rest.

She'd felt right at home with the Thieves Guild, and working for them had definitely increased the volume of her coin purse, as well as earned her free lodging and decent enough food- some of her fellow thieves were okay cooks by their own right. She'd had to do a few tasks and hoop jumping to get to this point, but now, she was sure she'd been sent on an errand that was going somewhere bad, and fast.

Goldenglow had been a challenge- with lots of water to make her sneaking a challenge, as well as sewer crawling- and then she'd been sent on a schill job by Maven herself, only to be sent all the way to Solitude to track down an inside source who'd dealt with the selling of Goldenglow.

Now, Mercer was getting involved, and Sjofn had a bad feeling about it all as Brynjolf handed the Guildmaster the deed. She'd grown up to follow her gut, and her instincts had never steered her wrong. As Mercer focused his steely gaze on her, she felt her stomach bottom out, and even Mirmulnir went still beneath her ribs.

"Mercer. It's Karliah," Brynjolf said as he handed the deed to the older man. Sjofn felt measures better as he turned his eyes from her, snapping them to the parchment being offered to him. A calloused hand snatched the paper away, and those awful eyes scanned over the paper.

"No. It can't be," he muttered as he went over it. "It's been years. Never thought I'd hear that name again."

Sjofn was quiet as she stood next to Brynjolf. She could hear the leather of his armour creak as he folded his arms over his chest. The scar on his cheek stood out against his beard, and not for the first time, Sjofn wondered how he got it.

Mercer turned his gaze back on her, and she nearly hiccuped in nerves.

"Ah, he mentioned that she said something about "Where the end began," or some such," she said quickly. "It made no sense to me."

"She means where ... where Gallus died," Mercer said quietly. "Where she killed him. The Snowveil Sanctum."

"Do you mean to go after her, Mercer?" Brynjolf asked. Mercer nodded, still focused on Sjofn.

"Yes, we're going after her."

Sjofn blinked, and Brynjolf tilted his head.

"We?" She asked.

"You and me, new blood," Mercer replied. "You helped us find out it was Karliah, it's only fitting you help me kill her, help avenge Gallus's death."

Sjofn fidgeted.

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather have Brynjolf go? Surely this is more personal for him."

His gaze grew cold, and Sjofn felt her spine turn to ice under his eyes as she fell silent.

"I need someone to keep these ruffians in line while I'm gone. I trust Brynjolf more than anyone else for that responsibility, and you've proved to be a far better tracker. You're going."

She nodded, swallowing her nerves.

"Are we to travel together, or shall we meet there?" she asked as he moved to his desk, pulling out an empty pack and putting things into it.

"Separately. So she can't pick us off at the same time," he grunted. "Get ready and meet me there."

Sjofn turned and headed for the room she shared with the other women, her heart racing. Mirmulnir pawed at her heart worriedly, wings fluttering. Sjofn ignored it- she had gotten used to the fact that the dragon soul refused to be absorbed completely, unlike the other soul she'd consumed. Maybe the first one never truly was assimilated.

Or maybe it wasn't Mirmulnir, but my own inner dragon wanting to awaken and remember who they were, she thought- a recurring thought as of late- as she went through the chest at the foot of her bed. Regardless of which dragon it was, it was worried, as was her gut. She wasn't sure how this trip would end up, but she was very on edge.

"Lass."

Sjofn turned to see Brynjolf at the entryway. She waved him in, going back to folding bandages around bottles of potions. He watched her in silence for a few minutes before clearing his throat.

"Be careful, lass," he cautioned. She turned to look at him, wondering if he was voicing what she was feeling.

"With Mercer?"

"In general," he replied. "Mercer took Gallus's death very personally, so if you find Karliah, don't play the hero. Get out of the way and let him have his kill. He won't see reason once Karliah comes into view. Stay out of his way once you find her, understood?"

He still trusted Mercer, just not in the heat of the moment of revenge.

"Fair enough, and easily done, as I prefer to stay a distance away anyway," she agreed, twanging the string of her bow before slinging it over the top of her trunk.

"When are you leaving?" He asked. She glanced longingly at her bed, yawning.

"Tomorrow. I don't travel well without sleep," she managed as she stretched. Brynjolf nodded.

"Sleep well, lass, and travel safe. I'll here if you need me," he murmured before slipping from the room.

Sjofn slid into bed and sighed as she curled into a fetal position, worry twisting her guts and her trip with Mercer looming immediately before her, her instincts screaming at her to reconsider. She pulled her blankets over her head with a groan.

She wasn't going to sleep well.